The Rhythm
by Virtue
Summary: The night before the final battle, Budehuc's inhabitants brace themselves. Collection of oneshots, and spoilers abound.
1. Of Angels and Angles

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1. Of Angels and Angles

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**Disclaimer: **As awesome as that would be, none of these characters are mine. 

**A/N: **I've been aching to write these for a while, and did most of them in my spare time a few months ago, just never got around to actually doing something with them rather than having them sit as wasted space on the computer. So here it is, chapter one.

**Characters: **Hugo, Belle _(Sounds like a pairing, I know, but it's not really intended)_

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"_There's a bed bug nipping a finger. There's a swallow, there's a calm. Here's a hand to lay on your open palm today."_

-"**Of Angels and Angles" by The Decemberists **

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Dark fingers traced the creases of his right hand that gave him this burden. In the past few months, opportunity had never come that he would have the _time _to sit, back against the remains of a cargo box on the deck of the wrecked ship that had in a way become merged with Budehuc Castle. Every night since the new establishment of the Fire Bringer there had always been at least a few who would find themselves drawn to that very spot. Some found it meaningful, and some didn't. But tonight, Hugo found it significant beyond reason, and tonight he also happened to be the only one who'd ventured to the seat just above the ocean, yet just beneath the stars. 

When people came here they often found themselves facing certain memories of the distant past, that usually had not been recalled for years. The silent night sky had a way of meddling with consciousness, and pulling things to the surface.

"_Just like your father." _His mother had told him. On rare occasion throughout his life he could remember her slip out certain things like that. _"Your father would be proud." _He remembered a time not too long before this all began that he dedicated himself to being as much like his father as possible. Back then the logic had fit perfectly. If he really could be just like his father then maybe, possibly he could fathom some sort of memory of the man who had endeared himself so fully to his mother.

"_Maybe he'd still be proud, anyway."_ He thought as the breeze rustled the trees by the shore and gently touched his left arm. _"Now that it looks like I'm never going to quite- be him."_ The rune he traced had made that a reality. He was now to be a true rune bearer, the Fire Hero's successor, for the rest of time.

Lulu had accompanied him often on early morning rides. Sometimes whenever Hugo went to wake him in the early morning darkened hut the younger boy would simply grumble and roll over, no matter how much Hugo had prodded him to get up.

But the times Lulu had brought himself to wake, the mornings were all the more memorable. Although they would never quite travel the same distance that Hugo could travel alone (as riding so swiftly never quite came as effortlessly for Lulu as it did for Hugo), the two simply enjoyed one another's company. There were times when neither would say anything at all, and there were times when they would find themselves bickering about one thing or another as they rode off, racing one another as the sun slowly rose, wrestling playfully by a bubbling brook as their horses rested, and riding home by midmorning, laughing at how one was more sopping wet than the other.

Hugo resisted the sky and willed himself to stop there. Anything beyond that would would merely arouse old hatreds, and invite old pains. _They _were allies now. _They _had suffered too. War had revealed that to Hugo, and he would never forget it. A somewhat familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

"W-Would you like some water?"

Though he was never one to be surprised easily, Hugo found himself startled. Looking up at the timid looking girl before him and realizing who it was, he allowed himself to smile pleasantly. "Oh. Well, sure I guess. Thanks, Belle." She smiled back. "I have a glass too. It was a ton of trouble, you know? I wanted Gadget Z to do it, but he just kept breaking the glasses. So Anne just had me do it."

Hugo nodded, still smirking as he accepted the glass. Belle remained standing before him. "Mind if I sit?" She asked. Hugo shook his head amiably as she sat down. Hugo couldn't help but think of how _awkward _the girl looked right now compared to how he was used to seeing her around the Castle. She wore a plain white nightgown the reached just below her knees, but of course her colorful striped knee socks picked up from there. Gadget Z was nowhere in sight. And there was something else, though he couldn't quite pinpoint it.

As the two sat for several minutes awkwardly sipping from the glasses, Belle finally spoke up, as if she'd been searching for it from the time that she'd sat down. "So... what are you doing here? Everyone else is inside, you know."

Hugo paused for a moment, pondering what exactly the answer to her question was. Finally, he found something that was as close as he could possibly find to the answer as he could possibly get. "Because," He started carefully, "Because tomorrow..." He trailed off. But she understood, silently nodding. He looked at her. "Why exactly are you here?"

His question, though it was only fair caused her to blush. "To get a drink. I was thirsty." She jumped up and took his now empty glass from his hands. "I-I have to go. Good luck tomorrow, Hugo." Crossed the deck as if casually being chased by death itself.

Hugo blinked. The girl sure was strange. Normally he would opt to go after her, but not tonight. Leaning head back on the box once again, he sighed back up at the sky above him. He sighed, disappointed that he had so unknowingly just embarrassed the girl so badly. Good thing Sgt. Joe didn't witness that. He received enough teasing about those anonymous notes she left him in the comment box.

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**A/N: **Though not really much of an original idea, these stories have really gotten some inspiration going. Whether you like it or not, expect more soon.

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	2. The New Born

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**2. The New Born**

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**Disclaimer: **None of these characters are mine, but I'll be sure to let you know when they are.

**A/N: **I think I'm going entirely Zexen Knight happy. So after this, expect to hear from them. As for this chapter, I had a good time writing it. The more I went into it, the more I found myself making Sierra quote my grandmother practically every time she spoke. Which I actually find pretty amusing, that fact that my interpretation of the vampire Sierra is of a Polish Grandma. Neat-o.

**Characters: **Nash, Sierra

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"_When you've seen too much too young, "soulless" is everywhere."_

"**The New Born" by Muse**

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She was the first thing he saw as he opened the door to his tiny room in Budehuc. The one window he did have was graced with her figure. Her body tensed still as if no movement could possibly exist. She leaned her back against the side of the open window, with one leg propped against the opposite side, and one leg dangling freely in the breeze outside. Her cloak and shoes lay tossed to the floor, and a simple short sleeved peach colored dress remained on her body, almost giving an illusion of a sweet, innocent, young maiden.

Sierra Mikain was none of these. That, he knew. Closing the door behind him, he began his nightly routine by slowly unraveling the scarf around his neck. "How nice of you to come by, my dear." He said with a smirk, "After you were caught last time by the Alma Kinan girl, I'd expected you to, well you know, improve yourself a little before coming back here again." His own comment caused him to chuckle a little as he slipped off his tunic and rummaged through a drawer.

For the first time since he entered, she moved. "Thank you for that remark," She said bitterly as she relieved herself from her perch on the window, "It was terribly amusing."

He smiled. Her comment was obviously sarcastic, but the truth was, he _was _terribly amusing to her, and he knew it.

"So you're here to say goodbye, I suppose? Until ... several more days when I get back maybe?" He asked casually, as he turned to face her approaching figure.

She smiled back at him, though her smile was nothing like his cheerful one. "That is, if you're even alive tomorrow night." She cackled.

"That's true," He replied thoughtfully. Any other person would've have been chilled by her blunt words, but to Nash, they said something different, something uninterpretable by any other person. He leaned against a crooked bedpost, making it groan slightly. "What would you do about that, Mrs. Clovis?"

A breeze carried its faint weight in through the window behind Sierra, making her dress and lengthy hair seem to float for several moments, before settling back down. "I suppose I'd stay here for a while. I've seen plenty of men around here that I suppose would suit me for a night or two, what do you think?" She said softly, sitting down on the bed beside the bedpost where he stood.

"I suppose I shall run off with Chris Lightfellow, then." He replied, teasing her back. Sierra lay back on the bed and laughed dryly. "I should think such a woman would know better than to waste her time in such a way." Her eyes met his for the first time that night, and for a moment, he could've sworn he saw a trace of fear in her eyes. Not the paranoia of infidelity, (that most likely any other woman would experience at that remark), but the fear of change. The kind of change that happens when one loses something they hold close, perhaps too close. She sat up. "That would make her a fool." She finished slowly, her own eyes burning into his own.

"I suppose it would." He said, still smirking as he broke their gaze, crossing the room to a bowl of water that had been brought up earlier. Years of bitter teasing from Sierra had given him an understanding of time. He realized this as his proceeded to lift water to his face. And it had given her hope, whether she realized it or not. He continued washing he face several more times before reaching for a nearby towel.

"Listen to me, boy." Her voice was firm and commanding, though pain existed in it, it was not evident to the human ear. "As much as I wouldn't mind to rid myself of you, you must stay alive tomorrow. I've gone through even trouble to keep you here as it is."

He understood.

"Until then." She stated. He made his way, arms crossed to where she now stood, before the open breezy window. "And perhaps, perhaps you could _do _something with yourself as well. You look terrible." She added thoughtfully.

His left arm leaned against the top of the window frame, holding his leaning body inside. He positioned his forehead directly above hers. Closing his eyes gingerly, he inhaled. "I shall see you then, Mrs. Clovis." Leaning his neck downwards, he quickly realized that his lips were not meeting hers as they usually would. His eyes opened yet again to the sight of the starlit night sky before him.

"_Old hag..." _His thoughts replied.

Releasing himself from his leaning position on the window, he stood back and sighed with his hands running through his hair. "You left your stuff here," He said to the sky, yawning.

Before laying back onto the bed, he proceeded to close the window. Few things thoroughly irritated Nash, but that breeze was getting annoying, and tomorrow was going to be a long day.

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	3. Promise What You Will

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**3. Promise What You Will**

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**Disclaimer: **None of these characters are mine. As frickin sweet as that would be.

**Characters: **Borus, Percival, Louis

"_Spring was on the mountain we climbed upon; we stopped to see how high and how far we'd gone."_

**-"Promise What You Will" by Iron and Wine**

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"I thought you once said that what Lady Chris doesn't know wont hurt her." Louis said hopefully. He, Borus, and Percival sat around a small table in the Pub, as many others did that same night.

Percival sighed and leaned back. "Well you _see_," He began thoughtfully, "That's true, but taking any sort of risk on our performance tomorrow-"

"He means that last time involved women, so naturally his logic came before Lady Chris's." Borus cut in. "And what logic it was." He added,gloating at his friend across from him.

Percival leaned forward again, resting his bare elbows on the table. "And if I remember _correctly_, you were right with me then." He retorted and watched Borus's face fall. "It appeared to me that you seemed to think it logical enough."

Louis sighed. At this point, it really looked like he wasn't going to get treated to alcohol tonight. It only happened every once in a while, but not tonight. And Lady Chris _did _forbid anyone from drinking tonight, as tomorrow was the final battle. But _drinking _didn't always necessarily mean that you got _drunk, _did it?. For now he simply watched the commotion of the room.

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In some dreams, Percival saw Borus stand on the bridge of Brass Castle, before the sightly hills and lands laying out in front of him. The snow fell thick, but he remained outside nonetheless. The breeze shifted, directing the white flecks directly in his eyes for a moment, causing him to flinch slightly and turn around.

Currently on duty guards watched, puzzled at the bizarre scene before them.

Percival wedged open the door only to be greeted by the ghastly air. The sight also worried him. Few things could distract Borus from his duties, but that didn't necessarily mean that those things were nonexistent.

"Borus! Hey, man let's just-" He started, reaching out a gloved hand to clutch on the sleeve of Borus's jacket. Borus turned to him, his face gray and sullen like a storm cloud, framed with matted blonde hair, which had been turned several shades darker from the wetness the snow had provided.

"I sometimes wonder," he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft and hollow, "How many people have died before her, and how many people have died after her, and how many of those people I actually gave a damn about."

Percival opened his mouth to speak again, dumbfounded. For once, he could say nothing._"Perhaps that's why it's a dream." _Salome had interrupted when Percival told him of this. And for the first time, he found Salome to be little to no help whatsoever. Just when he'd approached the strategist with something not work related and yet serious, the man had to poke fun at him.

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At least a year had past since he had first dreamt it. And it reoccurred many times. Sometimes by itself, or sometimes casually intruding on something else he had been dreaming of. Sometimes, he didn't even remember dreaming it, but when he woke up he knew he had experienced it at some point in the night, simply because he felt himself awake with that dull haze of a pulse, making his waking limbs seem unbearably heavy.

But as he sat in Anne's bar now, he cursed himself inwardly for letting his thoughts stray there, even if it was only for a fraction of a second. Because as unhelpful as Salome's remark was, it was _right_; to anyone else besides Percival, the dream meant nothing more than a story to pass the time. And it wasn't until then that Percival discovered that truth that Salome had tried to tell him through his interruption. It was apparent that _some _sort of conflict was occurring in his friend and _he_ had to figureit out; _no_t Salome.

And as he sat across from the closest person he ever had to any sort of _brother,_ his gaze traveled to a young woman just entering the room, obviously nervous at the sudden attention he was giving her. Politely he motioned her over to join them. Borus called something to a fellow knight across the room, and the two raised their glasses of nonalcoholic beverages in a mock toast, and Louis laughed.

And yet, the message was still unclear. It seemed as if the connection to reality simply could not be made. But if it ever came up, Percival would be the one to make it. Of course tomorrow wasn't making it any easier.

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**A/N- **_(Again, I know but it's important.) _The "her" that Borus refers to in the dream is a younger sister that I made up for him in Of War and Morals, which also happens to be a oneshot. But you don't need to read that in order to get this, seeing as she's not much of a drastic part. Just thought I'd clear that up since I didn't really say in here. Also, thank you to those who reviewed and emailed.

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	4. The Storm

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**4. The Storm**

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**Disclaimer: **None of these characters are mine, as usual.

**A/N: **I actually really hate the song I picked for this chapter. But I picked it regardless, because the acoustic version rocks.

**Characters: **Percival, Chris _(pairing kinda hinted, because I just couldn't help myself.)_

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"_How long have I been in this storm? So overwhelmed by the ocean's shapeless form? The water's getting harder to tread, with these waves crashing over my head."_

"Storm" by Lifehouse

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Hints of dark hair collected by the moonlight shone in stark contrast to her own head, which glowed magnificently.

It was then she inwardly cursed for not bothering to tie it back, as such realizations of her appearance tended to make her self conscious. A moment passed as the two knights observed each other, and feeling increasing uncomfortable at the direct casual attention she was being giving Chris nodded, "If you'd like to."

Percival came closer from his perch among the trees and nodded back, revealing a weapon almost identical to her own. "Alright." He smiled. She gripped her hilt firmly, hoping to make her grip overcome the moisture from the humidity of the night air, as he did the same.

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Through his years of extensive training, he'd learned certain perspectives on fighting that no ordinary civilian villager could possibly realize without the experience itself. When two enemies fought, it created the friction of steel on steel, the tension and subtly growing blood lust surged like plague. But as he had practiced with fellow soldiers there was tension, but of a different sort. There was competition, boasting rights, pride, and the possibly of being the victim who was stuck with paying the pub bill that night hanging over one's hand.

Though they only fought with the flats of their blades, Percival watched his companion's face wince slightly as his blade's tip stripped the tips off of several of her hairs as she dodged, although she kept her speed.

Fighting with Chris was of a different concoction. It was something that could not be experienced between either comrade or enemy, though the emotions ranged from both. There was the tension thick, but an air of playfulness as well. Their bodies were charged by a certain lust for adrenaline moved with fluidity. And something they had been brainwashed to avoid on the battlefield.

_Concern._

He blocked her swing yet again. They stared for a moment, one set of bloodshot eyes looking into the other, and proceeded yet again, slowly losing the moment to time. His dark tunic clung to his body, causing the air to move smoothly over him, and the night sky continued to illuminate the sight.

She cursed again, at the realization of their attire occurred. _Her _tunic was a lot lighter in color than his; which in the lack of light (because of the overhead trees), allowed him to feel for her movements better, and to respond quicker than she could to him. She somehow heard a light chuckle somehow over the clash of metal, reminding her that she'd said the word out loud. She heaved her blows in exasperation at the man. He _did _tend to have that effect on her.

A sharp exhale from him told her exactly what he was going to do next, though he never realized it; she'd seen him do this plenty of times in battle. He moved his torso as if sending the signal for a right side blow, while quickly gaining momentum for the left. Had she not noticed his breath she'd lost; but in an instant grazed her weapon against his while backhanding him harshly across the brow. The moisture of the night air caused him the lose grip of his weapon from the sudden, unexpected contact from hers. It landed some several feet away, and he remained still as she held the point of the blade to his neck, and smiled.

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They now sat panting slightly, backs against the thick trunk of an oak, shoulders almost touching though they were both facing out towards different directions.

His legs sprawled out in grass before him, and his right barefoot nudged her left, causing her to grunt in response before he attempted to speak, speech plagued by slight mucus in his throat.

"What was that?" She asked hoarsely, running her long fingers through her lengthy hair, as if attempting to comb it.

He cleared his throat this time. "After all of this, I think I need to return to Iksay for a while. They need all the help they can get," Was his earnest reply.

Chris smoothed the fabric in her lap as he continued. "And it's my hometown, after all."

She nodded. "Well, that's understandable." She replied thoughtfully, her professional tone returning. "You'll be no small loss to the knights, Percival." He leaned back, head resting against the tree bark wall and she added, "But your intent is honorable." The professional tone was gone.

"Thank you, milady." He turned to face the violet eyes fixed on him. The same eyes he'd seen from the torments of training, and the brutality shown towards her by her own fellow cadets, simply because she was female. The eyes that spoke of a tough skin. She was strange, to say the least; strange, beautiful, yet most of all, deadly. He returned her smile from earlier, causing her to blush and turn her head, and say softly, "Please don't look at me that way, it's rather uncomfortable."

He nodded and looked down. "Forgive me, milady. I didn't realize it was inappropriate."

His words seemed to sting her. "Well no," She began apologetically, crossing her arms on her chest while gazing at the moon through the canopy above her. "It's just that I see you look at... women like that often." She finished awkwardly. He chuckled, standing and grabbing his sword from the ground by the blade before tossing it lightly to the other hand to hold it properly by the handle.

"Perhaps I do," He said, "But I've recently realized I find the simplest reasons to smile from you, milady." And with that he saluted her respectfully before turning back to the castle.

She watched him stiffly, stunned by his words. And she began to wonder what drew them both to that clearing that night in the first place.


	5. The Simplest Thing

**The Simplest Thing**

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**Characters: **Queen, Geddoe

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Oh simple thing, where have you gone?  
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on.  
So tell me when you're gonna let me in;  
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin.

-Somewhere only we know by Keane

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As far as she was concerned, her bath was well earned. She quickly stripped herself of her clothing amidst her dirt and sweat soiled flesh, revealing various strips of scarred flesh. She'd spent that last few hours training at Budehuc's Bujutsu center in her own determination to improve what she could before tomorrow.

Queen exhaled slowly in sheer pleasure as her toes made contact with the warm, bubbly water. The ocean was calm tonight, and a full moon provided the perfect amount of illumination to the bath. She preferred bathing at this time of night; some of the women here were so self conscious it made _her _uneasy, and the ones that weren't were all too chatty. Not that she was opposed to conversation- but in a day's worth of Ace and Joker, she enjoyed the quiet.

She felt a slight disturbance from the male side, partitioned with a wooden barrier from her own. A smile curled on her lips. She knew who it was; she wasn't the only one that enjoyed the peace of a bath just before midnight.

Sometimes they made a curtious exchange, as if to illuminate to awkward awareness of one another's presence. For now, Queen chose to remain silent. If he really wished to be spoken to, he would do so himself. Anyone who knew him knew that.

She sank back against the cedar lining of the tub and submersed her head underwater completely, scrubbing it of it's greasy content. When she broke the surface of the water again, she listened to the lightly muted scrubbing sounds from the opposite side. She held back a snicker, and started her own routine with lavender soap. Something about the image of her unit captain being as stoic and secretive as he was, stark naked and scrubbing at his own flesh with perhaps similarly scented soap (Goro insisted the experience wasn't the same without it) seemed awfully amusing.

"What's so funny?"

His voice was hard and distinctively low amidst the steam saturated air. Queen blinked, hardly comprehending how her amusement could've been the slightest bit audible. She instantly stiffened, halting her ritual and quickly came to the conclusion that he was simply in the mood for conversation tonight.

"You heard me?"

"Yeah."

She detected a small smile in his voice.

"I was simply appreciating that fact that you're so clean," She responded, "I can't say as much for the rest of our crew.".

He chuckled. She listened to the light trickle of water run over him as he rinsed.

"That's not entirely true. Jacques bathes three times a day if her gets the chance."

Queen was massaging her scalp with soap through thick tufts of black hair. "You're right.".

That was the typical extent of their exchange. A sly smart remark countered by a another. While every member of their unit shared a degree of compatibility and comfort with one another (sometimes too much so, if her opinion.), she felt closer to Geddoe than anyone, despite that she knew the least about him compared to anyone else.

She submerged herself again, long pale fingers sliding the shafts of her hair strands, ridding them of suds. As a girl her hair was much longer, it extended to her waist at one point. Her mother made a point of caring for it like mothers did. She was once considered beautiful among her wealthy Harmonian community; that was a long time ago. Although if her own mind, it was even longer than it really was.

She lay there for a while, hair drifting freely in the subtle currant, eyelids closed tight. She felt the tickle of air bubbles slip out of her ears and release to the surface. Her thoughts became increasingly dreamlike and her oxygen supply depleted. Baths as a child from which she was welcomed by a fluffy white towel, the first time she held a sword, the moment her heart broke at the sight of the ruins of her home. She swore she could see Geddoe's rune now, glaring emerald amidst the thick, full veins of his hand.

Her face crashed through the surface in panic, and she gasped at the rich supply of moist oxygen.

"You alright?"

Her heaving chest slowed.

"Yeah. I can't quite hold my breath like I used to, apparently." She stated coyly.

He only grunted in response, obviously noting the manner of her statement.

She leaned back to her spot against the wall. They were side by side in a natural sort of way, if you didn't count the divider. Or the awkwardness of nudity.

It wasn't like she hadn't seen his body before. Living, eating, and sleeping in close range with these men for years at a time had rid her of any instinctual bashfulness her upbringing had given her. From what she'd seen, he was but a mass of scarred muscle and prominent veins. His arteries where always abundant as well; she'd pressed her finger to his wrist's pulse one time when he lost large amounts of blood from a battle wound. While any other person's would present rapid and thready, his was steady and strong. She'd only leaned backward on her ankles, unknowingly wiping her forehead with his blood in amazed relief.

"So what do you think?" She wondered aloud to her companion.

"About what?"

"Tomorrow."

She heard a gentle lap in the water, possibly a shrug.

"I'm not sure."

She despised his vague answers. Especially when she sensed he had more to say.

"Was this what it was like that last time?"

A deep sighed ensued.

"Somewhat."

She folded her hands to her chest. The thought of losing anyone tomorrow was unbearable.

"I'm worried." She stated bluntly.

His reply was equal in manner. "Me too."

More thoughts surfaced.

"Do we have to bring Aila?"

"Why not? She's a good fighter." His voice had a ring of puzzlement.

"I _know _she is. I'm not worried about that." She spoke quickly, realizing how her pondering had sounded. "What if one of us…" She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I just don't want her to see anymore death. It's sickening.".

She heard the deep inhale of a yawn, and she instinctively mimicked the action.

"She's not much of a child anymore."

Queen frowned. He was right. Tears rushed under her lids, bidding her for release, but she only blinked them back. Aila had watched her village burn along with many friends and family members. She'd fought alongside them in their own adult like manner, and had even taught herself to read and write amidst the entire process.

"Lydia."

She stiffened at the word. It had become a distant memory from her mother's lips, yet it seemed to roll off his tongue in natural prose.

"Be careful tomorrow." A rush of water dropped into the bath and he was undoubtedly lifting himself out of the tub.

"Yeah. Sure. You too, boss." She stammered at his sudden hint of intimacy.

"I'm just saying I really hate the thought of something happening to you."

Bare footsteps padded away, water trickling with each movement.

Queen bowed her head, wondering why such a dry statement made her blush.

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**A/N: **I finally decided to update. I recently started to replay the game and couldn't help myself. I tend to overlook Geddoe and his crew so I felt this was necesary. The song by Keane is simply amazing, so if you've never heard it I highly recommend a listen.


	6. Interlude

**Interlude**

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**Characters: **Nash, Futch

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_She tied you to a kitchen chair_

_She broke your throne, she cut your hair_

_And from your lips she drew the "Hallelujah"_

-Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen

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"_Nash Latkje_."

The hushed words uttered in combination with an imperative tone prompted the door open.

Futch flinched, startled at how abruptly his demand had been met. The blonde Harmonian eyed him keenly, strands of blonde more disheveled than he'd been accustomed to.

"It's Clovis."

It was suspected that Nash was clearly older than he looked. But now, Futch estimated, he probably looked about his age. Traces of creases gathered in dark bags under light eyelashes framing a marvelous blue hue of another which he'd grown to so miss over the months.

Futch only nodded and nervously strummed his knuckled together in loose fists, feeling self conscious under the eye of an actively observing spy. "Right. My mistake. Can we talk?"

Nash only squinted. "Now? Seriously?"

"Yeah."

With a step backward and a curt nod to his unexpected visitor, Nash invited the man in.

The room was small and consisted of the typical furniture Budehuc had in stock. A single window framed with white curtains matched by the bedspread of a four poster bed. A single armoire stood before a modest looking dining set consisting of a round oak table between two chairs.

"Forgive me," Nash sighed, "I typically don't get visitors at this hour." There was a lighthearted humor spreading with in his voice as the sleepiness vanished. He moved across the room to close the window shades, which caused Futch to wonder at why they would be open in the first place due to the nightly chill.

"What brings you here?" He looked almost comical, Futch thought, in loose fitting nightclothes and unruly hair springing from all angles of his head, yet still striving for a somewhat dignified composure with arms crossed, standing over the younger man who dutifully seated himself at the table, resting both hands on his temples.

"I've been meaning to come by sooner."

Nash sighed irritably. "I'd hope so. Shall I make preparations for Bright as well?"

Futch snorted and decided the joke was well deserved.

"I'm in love with Julie."

Silence. Futch lifted his head from his hands and leaned on the wooden surface with the full weight of his upper body and moved his gaze to meet those familiar eyes.

Nash sat across from him.

"How do you know that name." It was a demand moreso than a question. He spoke harshly, all trace of humor gone.

Futch leaned back instinctively. "We met several years ago." He swallowed, eyes straining for any possible sign of sudden movement. "And I fell in love with her."

His eyes strayed in the midst of his nerves. Despite her protest, he'd declared in their last written exchange that he would inform her brother of their relationship. It was the only proper thing to do. Though she was about five years his elder, his feelings sprouted from pity for the timid girl in their initial meeting. In her company he found a genuine sweetness that could not reach comparison by another. He'd visit in any chance that was suitable in unsuspicious, such as the innocent, inconspicuous delivery of a message in Crystal Valley. She confided in him the details of her past, clinging to the realization that for the first time in her three decades, someone felt the need to free her, rather than protect and shelter her.

After a long, thoughtful pause Nash's voice was firm and serious.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because it's the right thing to do."

The response elicited a tense chuckle, and a hand to rub at his face absentmindedly, settling in the slender curve of his chin. His eyes snapped to Futch again in a rapid pulse, catching the brunette's attention.

"Well," He replied dryly, brow furrowed as if in deep thought, "I suppose you're better than the last guy.".


End file.
